


Bring Out All the Ghosts to Light

by Kurokoo



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Dave | Technoblade-centric, Family Dynamics, Found Family, Gen, Minecraft lore, Prince!Dream, Royalty, alcohol is there, but then make it weird, just there to be annoying!tommy, kind of, merchant!philza, president!wilbur, regarding l'manburg, traveller!technoblade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27766921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurokoo/pseuds/Kurokoo
Summary: Technoblade has been travelling a lonely journey for the past seven years. Well, that's about to change.(In which a bard-turned-president, a badass dad, and a sixteen-year-old boy show a runaway loner that he might prefer to just be a runaway instead.)
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 262





	1. the path among the lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from [take back the night (captain sparklez)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kwwl9jiJ1A4&list=LLGrPv7aeipu7t2WKeheAbEg)
> 
> chapter title from [frame of mind (tristam & braken)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SCD2tB1qILc&ab_channel=Monstercat%3AUncaged)

Technoblade wished he had a pendulum to watch.

Outside, the city reflected its history right in his face. Seventy years ago, when Mirkam Day was established, the city would fall under a sombre spell for the entirety of May 24. Not a soul would be seen or heard for the day, and afterwards all would pretend that it had never even occurred.

Seventy years ago, it was whispered in schoolyards and tittered over tea parties that those who wanted to find their long-gone loved ones, dead or alive, could do so on Mirkam Day. Techno didn’t really know why he bothered. In the seven years he had come, he hadn’t so much as gotten a glimpse of proof.

Of course, rumours usually buried all shreds of truth under glittering piles of falsehoods, but millions flocked there anyway. Rooms at tiny inns skyrocketed in price for a single night and were highly coveted, from priests too consumed by grief to follow temple decorum, to tourists examining streetlights in fascination, to that one small cult that claimed Mirkam as its holy land and led a pilgrimage of 50 people every year. In light of the festival’s purpose, the place attempted to stay peaceful for the dead it was meant to mourn, but greed won out in the end.

Businesses delighted when Mirkam Day slowly shifted to become a bustling celebration held in the centre of the world’s largest city. Mirkam itself made up nearly a tenth of the kingdom of Lirikam’s GDP, and Mirkam Day contributed to a fair portion of that for only happening once a year.

Most everyone had already forgotten the original purpose of the annual festival. After all, who cared for a holiday dedicated to those who had passed on when there was karaoke to partake in? Calls for prayer to the souls in the afterlife were drowned out by calls for more beer and strangers to sing with, and honestly, it was all very annoying when you were a sullen, lone traveller looking to spend the night sleeping away your problems.

And that was how Technoblade, twenty-one years old, simultaneously glad and dismayed that he was not old enough to die of heart failure from the bass-boosted music, found himself melting into his pillow in the crappy motel at two in the morning. You know, all according to his master plan. His family, probably gathered somewhere in the throng of millions of people, were definitely immensely proud of their son.

When the Satanic ritual no doubt happening downstairs became too loud for even his state-of-the-art wax earplugs, Techno threw the gritty covers off and groped for the scabbard under his dandruff-covered pillow. He really hated the Mirkam Festival, even if he somehow wound up back there every year without fail.

Well, in any case, if he couldn’t fall asleep the normal way, Lirikam’s legal drinking age was eighteen.

He made his way to the hall that connected the rooms and glanced outside, wincing at the state of the window. The green film covering it probably couldn’t be scrubbed away with the strongest soap or conviction. He felt a momentary kinship to it, as he was also resistant to soap and conviction, before turning and heading outside.

The street facing his motel was mobbed with strangers of all shapes, colors and sizes, most of them drunk and a few high. Oh, how the blood pounding in his ears and his own weakness urged him to join their ranks.

The main festivities, if he could remember correctly, took place in a square made up of five city streets in any direction, with stragglers spreading out all around the area as the night wore on like bacteria in agar. Currently, he estimated there would be half the usual amount of people partying.

He was wrong.

Immediately after he opened the door, he was hit in the face by a gust of music and noise. Techno tilted his head back and groaned at the crowds of people still laughing and mingling. He passed by stalls offering candied apples, cheap toys and foreign dishes with his shoulders hunched and head down. It was entirely too loud to be legal here, but the law applied to 364 days of the year and this was the 365th. He was half certain at least ten people died here annually, trampled to death underneath horses or shoved into lakes by giddy masses.

Thankfully, the bar in the corner of the road that he had chosen to spend the rest of his miserable night in was relatively empty. All of its patrons were either too intoxicated to function or disappeared for the time being, and he thanked the gods for the relative calm as he stepped over a man drooling on the hardwood floor. Besides the teenage boy arguing with the tall brunet next to him, the place was wrapping up for the night and otherwise empty — a stark contrast to what sounded almost like a war being waged outside. Perfect.

He sunk down on one of the barstools and quietly ordered something “like this” while pointing to the cheapest drink he could find, which was his way of saying “I’m flat out broke but still want to be a sad alcoholic.” Yep, his family definitely weren’t writhing in their graves. At least he hadn’t gone for the more blunt “I’m poor but I want one” like that sixteen-year-old boy…oh.

With a sigh, he got up and tapped the tall man’s shoulder, because he was just such a nice and caring fellow countryman, you see. The man whipped around from where he was scanning the crowds and eyed him carefully. 

“Your son, uh, brother, is buying — ”

Before he could finish the attempt at a warning, the man leapt up without another word and ran to snatch at the back of the blond boy’s jacket, and Techno dispassionately went back to his seat and took the pint.

Their voices kept rising, which was annoying but still quieter than the raging revelry outside, so he watched in half-interest. Their wild gesticulations reminded him of the plays they used to put on in the theatre, when he used to find things to pass the time instead of the other way around.

Apparently not afraid to make a scene in public, the tall man had closed in on the boy and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. “Tommy, you idiot, I told you — ”

“Come on, Wilbur, please. I’m only a year away, please?”

“What do you mean a year? You’re sixteen, a baby, a _fetus_ — ”

“What do you mean? I’m a man!” Tommy shook himself off the hold. “Besides, it’s just a year! And eleven months.”

The man — Wilbur, apparently — threw his hands up in frustration and grabbed the back of Tommy’s jacket, dragging him to sit at a table with five chairs. As if in afterthought, he shot an apologetic grin at Techno, who blinked uncomfortably at being noticed. And because the alcohol made his eyelids droop despite the piccolo solo going on outside. “Thanks for telling me about the kid. He’s an idiot.”

“Hey!”

Techno nodded. “Sure.”

Tommy gave him a critical look, face scrunched up, and it gave him the impression that the boy was judging him for his unkempt appearance. Well, excuse him for looking so haggard when the only thing emptier than him was his wallet. Every tavern with a hygiene fix was booked full from here to Beckam, and he needed to be in the city today. And had he mentioned that they were at the goddamn _Mirkam Festival_ , where the dead supposedly came back to life? There were too many skeletons in his closet for that, and he meant it quite literally.

Finally the boy seemed to settle on, “You look like you died last night or something. Do you need to come with us? Phil’s a pretty good brewer if you need a healing pot.”

Wilbur looked even more scandalized than Techno, which was surprising, as _he_ hadn’t just been verbally attacked by a child whose posture would’ve sent his mother into cardiac arrest. “What did I say about…Oh, forget it, just wait here for Phil. I’m sorry about him, he’s got that lack of impulse control thing.”

“I couldn’t tell. He’s as tranquil as a forest.”

That earned him a single snort, and Wilbur looked surprised at himself for it. “Say, you look rather lonely on such a festive day. Care to join my companions and I? Just for a night, of course. It’s boring with only a maggot and a dad to keep you company.”

Which was, in retrospect, a polite version of what Tommy said, but he shrugged even though he _knew_ it was a bad idea for him to be with anyone at the Mirkam Festival. Especially when he was intoxicated and had some two a.m. type emotions.

But he more importantly also felt happy and great and ready to get up, because what was the point of being in a festival if you weren’t going to be festive? Also, he was kind of drunk and light-headed. But mostly he just felt that the burden pressing down on his shoulders like an elytra made of rocks was gone, and the night was young and his to conquer even if sunrise was only three hours off. So he got up and sat down across from Wilbur.

“Woah, really?”

Wilbur’s wide-eyed surprise was almost offensive, and he let out a soft huff. “Do I really look that bad?”

“Yeah,” piped up Tommy, who was impatiently drumming his hands on the table. “No, seriously dude, you look like someone trampled you half to death with a horse and killed your entire family and your puppy.”

“Tommy,” Wilbur sighed, though he hadn’t noticed Techno’s small flinch. He was trying to be warm and floaty, not think about that, and he decided that Tommy was a piece of shit for that and for being loud. “We’re just here to enjoy the merrymaking. There’s another one of us, Philza, too. He’s an old man, really weak, can barely carry himself around anymore, and he’s going to come meet us.”

“Right. He’s my grandfather and he tells me, ‘Tommy, boy, when I was your age we were less fucked up.’”

They were fucking with him, right? They had to be fucking with him. Or maybe this Philza was one of those old widowers so consumed by grief they practically lived and breathed the slums of Mirkam, and he was accompanied by his two grandsons for the night? “I can see why.”

“Hey!”

Techno slid some coins onto the counter, ignoring how he had so few left that they barely clinked in his bag. Outside, the partying had yet to stop but had definitely slowed down. It was far from mellow, but at least it had become easier on his ears.

As he was glancing around for a piece of peeling paint to comment on to seem less awkward, Wilbur turned to get a better look at him, drinking in the limp pink hair and murky black eyes with curiosity. And probably disappointment, if he was being honest with himself. “So, might I ask your name? I assume you know ours, since Tommy is so goddamn loud. That’s Tommy, by the way.”

“Thomas Peter Borglin Leighthine,” Tommy corrected, puffing out his chest. Techno frowned at the conflicting suggestions. The name followed Hypixel tradition, though his accent reflected a different part of the continent. “And you sing in the bath, Wilbur. That’s Wilbur, by the way.”

Techno snorted. They were a nice enough duo, and he actually didn’t feel like trash tonight (although maybe that was the beer), so maybe he wasn’t going to ditch them in five minutes. “I go by Technoblade.”

“Edgy.”

He chuckled, the fuzzy feeling in his head making him loose-lipped. It had been so long since he’d last heard his own laughter that it sounded foreign, but then again, everything kind of sounded foreign right now. Including these guys’ accents. “What, did you guys not have rebellious teenage nicknames that you now go by?”

“Oh yeah, no, we all do. Tommy is in the midst of creating his, as a rebellious teenager.”

“At least I didn't dye my hair purple.”

Wilbur groaned and hid his face in his hands. “It was for a dare, Tommy, goddamnit, and it was three years ago! Don’t just go spilling my deepest, darkest secrets to some guy.”

Techno glanced over at him, but he really couldn’t imagine Wilbur’s hair as anything but the current chestnut brown. “Some guy wants to know what you were doing at a bar with this kid. He’s not legal, is he?”

“I am _not_ a child, I swear that’s the only fucking thing people ever fucking say to me…”

Wilbur gave an embarrassed grin and a half-hearted shove to Tommy’s head. “We were planning on meeting up with Phil. I actually chose this place especially to give him an opportunity to hit the bar, since he has to deal with us all the time. This is the one night he can really let loose, y’know? If I were him, that’s what I’d do.”

Techno raised a brow. “Get horrifically drunk when your dependents are gone?”

“You know it,” Wilbur grinned. “Or just in general. And I’m an adult, _Technoblade_ , one who can make his own living. The only dependent here is Tommy.”

He usually wasn’t one for asking or answering questions, especially with complete strangers, but in his defence, he hadn’t had more than a sip of alcohol in pretty much forever, alright? “I mean, back to the whole bar thing, you can’t tell me you weren’t planning on getting blackout drunk on Tommy yourself when you found me.”

“Fair enough.” He studied the pair carefully. Honestly, they had something he missed — siblinghood. Companionship, because after seven years of loneliness, it would be nice to have someone to laugh with.

This was just for one night, though. A friendship one night stand, he thought drunkenly. Because then he had to get back on the road.

“He should be here soon, I think,” Wilbur said, glancing out the window. The crowd outside squirmed against itself like a lively can of worms, and Techno shuddered. At least they were marginally less slimy, though from the raucous laughter and squeals of disgust, perhaps he had judged too soon. “I mean, he _should_ have been here thirty minutes ago.”

“Well,” Techno stretched, “I _should_ have been asleep thirty minutes ago, but look where I ended up.”

Tommy got up to press his entire face against the glass, much to the annoyance of the bartender, but Philza’s green and white cap was nowhere to be seen. “You don’t think he’s abandoned us, right? Gone off to a better place…”

“He’s escaped the mortal coil,” agreed Wilbur. “Turned traitor to his own flesh and blood for the promise of a better future.”

The ‘flesh and blood’ bit struck him, and Techno glanced between their faces with increasing disbelief. “You guys are related?” There was just a bit of family resemblance, or maybe it was his myopia. Maybe they took separate traits from this Phil person, who seemed more and more unlike their grandfather with the way they spoke of him. Dad, then.

A sharp ache formed in his chest. Siblings weren’t the only family he missed.

Tommy snorted and grinned widely, oblivious to the other’s inner turmoil. “Wilbur _wishes_. He just isn’t handsome enough to be my real brother, pity for him.”

“Don’t give me that superior tone, you little shit. Nah, it was just me and Phil for a bit, seeing as I’m a musician and he’s a tradesman. Loads of travel’s in the job description, you know? Tommy is the leech we picked up a year or so ago, and he’s been a nuisance to our finances ever since.”

Techno gave a half-smile. Even after all this time, he found that he _still_ liked making fun of orphans. “I can tell he doesn’t regularly attend school.”

“Oh, can you,” the leech who didn’t regularly attend school mocked. “People who go to school are stupid. It really explains how Will got the way he is.”

Before Wilbur could give him a concussion or, at the very least, laugh, a tired voice called out, “Hey guys, sorry…sorry I’m late.”

Tommy wheeled around to the entrance and held out his arms for a hug. “Phil! You’re back! I’ve missed you so.”

Phil gave him an odd look but returned the gesture. “Thanks?” He turned to have a look at Techno, who fiddled with the scabbard hanging from his side. “And who’s this?”

“He’s Technoblade,” he smiled, hooking an arm around his shoulders like they had known each other for years. Techno grit his teeth and resisted the urge to toss him to the ground.

“Nice to meet you,” Phil said cordially, and he nodded back. Phil appeared to be a relatively short but strong man with a slight beard made of wispy blond hair, warm blue eyes, and a pleasant voice constantly teetering on the edge of laughter. “Where’d you find him?”

“He warned me when Tommy was about to commit a felony.”

“He warned you when Tommy was about to _what_?”

Tommy backed away, knocking over a chair and slightly wild-eyed. Techno eyed the bartender’s scowl as he stared down the clock and gave their group ten minutes before they would be forcibly removed. “It wasn’t! A misdemeanour at worst. You know Wilbur, every word he says is a lie or so exaggerated Pinocchio’s nose would still grow if he heard it.”

“Sure, Tommy. Anyway, he was going to buy a drink and make a grand fool of himself because he doesn’t know how, and this lonely man was there drinking by himself. We brought him here as a pity case of sorts.”

Technoblade gaped at Wilbur, who smirked, and turned to Phil, who turned his laugh into a cough. Behind them, Tommy was cackling so hard he nearly knocked over a couple more chairs and tripped on a woman snoring and falling out of hers. “This is why I have trust issues.”

“No, wait, I’m sorry. That was a joke,” he wheezed. He didn’t look too sorry, but his wide grin made Techno smile a bit as well.

“Look, guys, it’s all well and good that you’re having fun, but I’m really tired, so we should probably find a place to sleep.” Phil turned and smiled at Techno. “Sorry for cutting your time with us short.”

Techno rubbed the back of his head and lifted the corner of his mouth with great effort. “I’m devastated. Well, it’s been a nice forty minutes and a good talk, but I already booked a room, so — ”

“We’ll stay with you, then,” Tommy said decisively. The other three stared at him. “What? Last time Phil tried to get a hotel room for us, we ended up in the basement of the local mafia’s casino.”

“That’s…how did you even manage that? You need the boss’s son’s birthday to be let past the second door.” He paused as they stared at him. “It’s February 7, ’93, if you ever need it.”

Phil nodded slowly, though Techno followed his eyes to the scabbard hanging off his hips. It was the only thing he owned that was still in pristine condition, including himself. “Sure, why not? I haven’t been to Mirkam in years, anyway, so I doubt I can find the best place. Lead the way, then, Technoblade.” Techno nodded, neglecting to mention that he himself only briefly visited Mirkam once a year.

Tommy yanked Wilbur’s ear down to mouth level, earning a yelp and disgruntled glare. “Maybe he’s the boss’s son.”

“I would never be so incompetent at killing,” Techno said, affronted. Tayler DeMara was better suited to be a florist, which was probably why he was married to one now. “Especially if it were my job.”

Tommy chuckled nervously, clearly not expecting to have been heard. “’Twas a compliment.”

Techno resisted the urge to shudder. They’d take one look at his cruddy motel and run. It was a miracle that they hadn’t taken one look at his cruddy self and run. “I actually spend my days smuggling potatoes into Lirikam for my shady business front.” He checked that his sword was still strapped to his belt and got up, dusting off his wrinkled white shirt. He should probably clean it soon, as nobody could tell that it was supposed to be white. “And sometimes when I’m feeling especially ambitious, I’ll harvest the souls of some oblivious strangers instead of just orphans.”

“Well, then! What are we waiting for?” Wilbur tagged along happily, dragging Tommy along by his raggedy jacket and followed by a much too amused Philza.

Their walk back was subdued, with even the most energetic in the group nearly falling asleep by the time they made it. Phil had to shake Tommy’s shoulder six times before the boy woke up, stumbling forward like a zombie.

“Here we go,” Techno said blandly as they paused in front of the building.

Wilbur and Phil studied the run-down building and decided that they were too tired to go find someplace else. The four of them made their way inside, pushing past stragglers adorned with cheap jewelry from Renche, and Phil haggled with the receptionist over pricing. Techno bid them goodnight, the edges of his vision blurry, and collapsed onto the thin mattress still in his sweat-slick clothes.

_Seven down, a lifetime to go._


	2. another's misfortune is your convenience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *more exposition* but hey! it's ok! tiny hints of backstory!
> 
> chapter title from [the miracle of reversals in life's predicaments (after the rain)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_So-oyydU0)

The first thing to bring him out of slumber was sand stuck beneath his eyelids and what felt like a small earthquake.

Technoblade groaned and slid a hand up to his face, feeling at his crusty eyes. Now he was doubly glad Mirkam Day and its ghosts were gone. He flicked them from his eyelids and sat up, squinting and shoving aside moth-bitten covers. Above him stood Phil, outlined against harsh sunlight streaming in from greasy windows like a ghost framed in judgement. He stared straight down at him with his arms crossed, somehow exuding both sympathy and disappointment at once. No wonder he was the leader. “You look dead.”

“Thanks.” What happened last night?

From the pounding in his head and the ache in his limbs, he deduced that he had been fucking wasted. Great. Not that he could blame his past self for excessive drinking on Mirkam Day — a personal tradition of three years — but dealing with the consequences of it was never fun. He hadn’t wanted to deal with the consequences of his actions for a long, long time. It also didn’t help that merchants jacked up the price of their hangover potions specifically for the day after the Mirkam Festival. Goddamn _capitalists_.

With a groan, Techno swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up shakily, giving the room a once-over to check that he hadn’t left anything behind. Not that he really had many possessions, with a net value equal to that of a vagabond. That didn’t stop Wilbur and Tommy from rooting around in his bag, though, and he threw his shoe at them. Tommy yelped when it struck him in the back of his neck. “What’re you guys doing here? And how did you get in?”

“The door frame was rotted,” Tommy said cheerfully, dusting off what looked suspiciously like wood chips from his pant leg. Techno glanced at the door only to find it leaning against the wall outside. Perhaps it would break that as well.

His sword, some money and the clothes on his back were all he needed, all he had, and all that was getting stolen from him. He snatched the sword out of Wilbur’s fascinated hands somewhat harshly, clonked Tommy with the hilt for his earring back, and shooed them all out with narrowed eyes in lieu of a slammed door. Wilbur looked much too pleased with himself as he spoke to Phil in hushed tones, probably about how much he wanted to rob Techno blind for his sword. He stroked it lovingly once, just because.

With his possessions safe once more, he was free to brush his teeth. For a few moments he did nothing but glare at his shadow because it vaguely resembled Wilbur, before remembering that he was supposed to be getting ready. He took a quick shower in the dingy bathroom and made sure sure to maturely express his discomfort at the freezing water with a resounding “What the shit.” It felt nice to be able to actually run his hands through his hair without encountering a stray stick, he thought, braiding it deftly.

He really hoped that it was enough to scrub away the dirt collected over a week of nonstop travel. Maybe people would think the rips in his clothes were a stylistic choice. Maybe they made him look intimidating. He’d heard that it was all the rage in Renche, though maybe that _decreased_ his credibility, considering Renche.

The lobby was nearly empty when he got there, the early risers gone and the partygoers asleep. The receptionist, a short lady who looked like she kept a stash of oleander ready to pour in the coffee of anyone who dared ask for breakfast, waved a very forced goodbye to him. Directly in front of her, Wilbur was asking for breakfast. He would certainly get a ‘forced goodbye’ if he followed through, Techno thought amusedly. Tommy was leaning against the counter with an expression akin to sucking on a lemon, and Phil was waving him over.

“Techno!”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Wait up,” Wilbur called as he collected his coffee and bag. On his back he lugged a weathered black case, probably containing a guitar or a very bulky violin. He couldn’t quite tell. “Where are you going without us, huh? Let’s go find a marginally less shitty place to eat.” From behind him the lady scowled, and Techno imagined that she wasn’t remorseful at all.

“Wasn’t this a ‘just for the night’ kind of thing?”

“Like a one night stand — ”

“Wilbur,” groaned Phil. Tommy stumbled after them and nearly faceplanted on the ground, diverting to Wilbur’s back at the last second. “Do you have some kind of pressing duty to return to or something?” he asked, with a meaningful look at Techno’s plain clothes. Clearly, he thought he already knew the answer.

What was he supposed to say? The truth, which was “Yeah, I kind of have to find someone who’s been missing for seven years so I can begin to exact revenge on an entire country”? Or some lie, like “Yeah, I’m actually a lumberjack on leave and I have a wife and sixteen kids waiting in the next county over”? Which was more believable?

“I’m going to assume no, so you might as well come along. We can work something out from there.”

Techno eyed their clothes, which were wrinkled but clean. And why did Wilbur smell like fucking roses? Fresh flowers, like evergreens and the middle class, didn’t exist in Mirkam. “Fine. Tell me where I can clean my clothes, though.”

Wilbur turned and snorted. “On second thought, let’s leave him behind. We can’t associate with such unhygienic individuals.”

“No, wait a minute.” They laughed and led him out, but ended up following him to the nearest restaurant. They plopped down in a table for five near the back, intentionally chosen for its privacy and Techno’s paranoia. He glanced at the coffee Wilbur was bringing to his lips. “I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.”

“It’s probably not that bitter.”

“It’s probably poisoned.”

Wilbur looked him in the eye and downed the entire thing in one gulp.

“Well, it’s just natural selection at this point,” he muttered under his breath. Phil choked on a laugh, and they ordered food from the bored waitress. He really felt for the people in this city. Though at first glance Lirikam was rather progressive, in reality its oligarchy ensured everyone was just equally oppressed. Most of its citizens were relegated to menial jobs, with the ruling class comprising fifteen families who lived like kings. Though he hadn’t exactly sat for a history lesson since he was fourteen. No wonder she, the bartender and the receptionist looked like every day might be the one where they quit. “Phil, were you manning a stall yesterday?”

“Of course! Who wouldn’t want to get in on some of that easy business?” He impressively downed his entire glass of water in one gulp. “Josh took over sometime after one, though.”

Wilbur butt in then, slinging his guitar off his shoulder and setting it down on the floor like it was his newborn child. “Let me elaborate on that, Technoblade. Josh is actually quite an old friend of mine, and I had to call him up and beg him to take care of Philza’s business on a national holiday when by all accounts he should have been getting smashed with his pals.”

“I’m kind of wishing I did,” breathed Phil.

“All so that this little gremlin child,” he went on, pointing a trenchant finger at Tommy, who was snoring on the table, “could get a candy apple. And _then_ it wasn’t enough and he wanted to explore, so we went on an hour-long expedition through the entire city of Mirkam. But Phil here wanted to go check on his store, so we wandered around by ourselves until he somehow ran off to go buy fucking drinks.”

Tommy leapt up in his chair like someone had just jabbed him in the arse with a taser, earning a dirty look from the waitress. Third of its kind. “I was just going to take a sip and give you the rest! You’re so ungrateful. You’re so mean to me.”

“So that was our night. Morning,” Phil finished with a sweep of his arm that conveniently knocked Tommy back in his seat. “I did wonderfully, by the way; we’re going to go collect the earnings right now.”

“Color me impressed,” Techno said, wondering how they had managed to survive for so long without getting killed or killing each other.

Tommy let Techno’s sarcasm go so far over his head that it ended up in orbit. “Phil earns all the money and he has a shit ton of it. Also, he’s going to leave it all to me when he croaks.”

Phil just seemed resigned and slightly wishful at the idea of his croaking.

“What the fuck do you mean? Nobody likes you enough for that. And I earn just as much from my music!” Wilbur puffed his chest up and stared Tommy down. Phil dug into his egg roll, imagining he was digging out their graves instead. “I’m a rising star, okay, Wilbur Soot, whose music is beloved by millions.” He kept staring at Techno almost expectantly. Their waitress whipped around so quickly that Techno began to wonder whether these guys could ever go into a restaurant without giving him lethal amounts of secondhand embarrassment.

He began chewing his pancakes a bit quicker.

“One thousand, at most,” said Tommy.

“As I said. _Millions_.”

Techno swallowed and spoke before they could start flinging butter at each other. “Where are you guys from?”

A pause. “L’manburg,” Tommy said. Techno glanced at him, startled. The sudden, quiet aloofness in his voice didn’t match his personality at all, and neither did the hard stare he gave him, almost like a challenge. Touchy, much. His country didn’t even exist anymore, and yet he didn’t put on airs when people asked for his birthplace.

He felt rather foolish now. Tommy’s stare could be rather unnerving, though he’d never admit it. “Uh. Sorry, where’s that?”

“You don’t know of L’manburg?” Wilbur arched his brow and Techno made a mental note to ask him to teach him how to make that exact expression later, complete with the squinty eyes. Given the right timing, it had a lot of potential for intimidation during negotiations, if the discomfort he felt was any indication. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Is this some kind of quiz?” Lessons ran through his head, long sessions of the rise and fall of states hammered into his brain. Not once had he ever heard of a place or person called L’manburg, even if he could recall perfectly the full name of Dennike Goley’s third concubine. (Lady Wist Goley, _née_ Rightsmourn, the reason the Goley dictatorship had survived past the third generation, though it was commonly attributed to her half-brother Nellon Rightsmourn. He was aware only because his old history tutor Aagawa would bitterly recount her role in the failed revolution led by his great-great-grandparents nearly every other lesson. Often it would be accompanied by a frustrated rant about how “If Queen Lucila’s ego wasn’t too big to shove up her ass, she would have wiped the Goleys off the face of this planet long ago instead of bullying countries a child could tip over.” Being of one of such countries, Techno usually just stayed silent.)

Tommy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I didn’t expect more from a filthy foreigner. What country are you from, that you don’t even know this stuff? Renche? I’ve heard those guys don’t have newspapers.”

“No one from Renche can even read, let alone translate Esempee,” Wilbur scoffed.

“It’s not called Esempee,” Techno said automatically.

Wilbur rapped his knuckles on his glass of water. “Yeah, well, as of Esempe taking over a quarter of the planet and holding the other three by the balls it is.”

“Guys, guys, we’re getting off topic,” Phil interrupted. “Techno, you seriously don’t know what L’manburg is?”

He pushed away his plate, remembering the days where he used to brief the Crown Prince of Hypixel himself on current events. Now there wasn’t even a Crown Prince to brief. “No.”

“I really can’t believe this guy. No wonder he didn’t react at all to my name.”

“Your name?” ‘Wilbur Soot’ didn’t mean anything to him, though he had insisted that he was some renowned musician. “I haven’t even heard a guitar in three years. Besides last night.”

Tommy shook his head and sighed, squeezing syrup directly into his mouth as the owner of the establishment watched in horrified amazement. He seemed to get that a lot. “Pathetic.”

“I’m President Soot!” Techno stared at him blankly, which only fueled his outrage. He also seemed to be turning a bit green, and Techno suspected the coffee may have had holly berries crushed in. Actually, that receptionist might be onto something. He knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy with a stash of various poisonous plants. It would make work easier, in any case.

As he contemplated the merits and effects of yew berries, Phil sighed and waved the waitress over. Together the two of them piled the last of the food onto Tommy’s plate so they could leave.

Meanwhile, his rant was only gaining steam. “Wilbur. Soot. Wilbur Soot? Former musician and comedian extraordinaire, now President of L’manburg? We won the war against Esempe, next to Tommy! That was a whole year ago. I couldn’t step foot outside the base without getting mobbed.” A slight pause. “Adoring fans only, of course.” By his tone, it was pretty clear that it had definitely not been adoring fans only.

Phil hurriedly dumped far too many coins onto their table, bowed to their waitress, and ushered the three outside. The waitress looked eternally grateful at having her hands free of them, even going so far as waving cheerily when they left. Techno watched, unmoving, as Tommy began to choke on his food and Phil had to whack him on the back. “With Tommy?” He thought back to how these new-fangled systems of authority worked. “So you mean you’re the ki — president — of a country with a sixteen year old as your…vice president?” Maybe he was biased, but that didn’t inspire much confidence in their government.

Actually, nothing inspired much confidence in their government.

“Yeah, and I’m doing great,” said Tommy once he recovered from his coughing fit. “Exceptionally. I’m doing exceptionally. The people love me.”

“By ‘the people’ he means his best friend and the only girl he’s ever spoken to in his life,” Phil supplied.

“He _did_ win the war for us,” Wilbur said defensively. “And Tubbo and Niki do love him. As much as one can love someone like him.”

Technoblade studied them more closely. Standing outside the diner, they looked nothing like royalty or government rulers. Though he stood tallest at 6’5”, that was about all Wilbur had going for him in terms of regality. Curly brown hair and a woolen grey beanie, no matter how well-fitting, could not match fine wool sheared from private sellers in the Zaire mountains. The hat more closely resembled something his sister Addison would have stress knit after a hard day. Wilbur himself gave off the look of a desperate street artist trying to sell his paintings at half price, one of the many that wasted away on city streets. (Lirikam had no use for artisans.) He was struggling to carry his guitar case and dressed in common clothes, even if he did smell like he bathed in angel tears.

Tommy was even worse, with plain messy blond hair and an unabashedly casual shirt. His father wouldn’t have discussed the simplest of international affairs with them if they were dressed by the Imperial Tailor Ruma himself. And yet here they were, looking a pair of glasses away from being poor disciples begging to buy dinner. He really couldn’t believe the nerve of them.

Tommy seemed to pick up on his thoughts and pouted. Next to Wilbur unconsciously lifting his chin, they looked even more ridiculous. “You don’t believe us, huh?”

“I do.” He didn’t. “It’s just that…you don’t exactly look like leaders.”

“Don’t judge a man by his tailcoat,” Wilbur sniped.

The frayed edges flecked with day-old mud said otherwise, but apparently he couldn’t judge.

Techno tapped his foot on the ground impatiently. He should be out of the city by now, not engaging in these strangers’ rebellion fantasies. “I’m not. I’m just saying that it seems rather impossible that you faced Esempe and won.” Phil watched him carefully and he shifted, wishing he could shrug those eyes off of him. “Plenty have tried and failed.” He should know.

“Right. Well, we lost everything for it, as you can see.”

“You didn’t,” he muttered. “You have your country.”

He hated how quietly it came out, how his eyes must have betrayed his envy. How Phil definitely picked all of it up. That damned keenness in his gaze. “That we do.” Phil smiled at him, a little gentler than before.

Techno hated them, and he hated this subject, and he hated these people who stoked his sparkless hope. He hated their country, for not being his.

“Technoblade, I do wonder where you’re going.” At least Phil had the tact to change the subject. For that, he could be grateful.

“Well, I’m moving around. I travel. I’ve done it a long time.”

“Couldn’t tell. You’re revealing so much right now.”

He sighed and resisted the urge to stuff Wilbur’s beanie down his throat. “I guess my next destination is, ah…” He consulted his map, fumbling with the folds for far too long. “Lanvad.” The only country in the West Quarter he had yet to enter, and the last column holding up his crumbling dreams.

Phil nodded curtly and straightened. “Right. Well, Wilbur, Tommy and I are on a sort of journey, you see. A quest. A, uh, personal one, of course. Just the three of us. We’re looking for something, and Lanvad happens to be one destination. We could travel together.”

It felt illogical and much too fast, but at the same time, was he in any position to deny company? Suddenly, the weight of seven years seemed to press down on its shoulders, a heavy burden he’d been blind to until now. “What is it?”

Tommy raised his head, face eerily blank. It looked unnatural on him. His face suited his expressiveness, until suddenly there was nothing there. A chill ran down Techno’s spine — he didn’t like it, either. “The Second Prince Dream led the attack on our nation, you know.”

_Then you were inconsequential._ He bit down hard to keep the bitter words from slipping out. Dream engaged in far more mercy than was the norm in the royal family of Esempe, so Lucila usually only sent him out on the most insignificant of conquests. Not that you could tell, seeing how he brutalised them. He glanced at Tommy, suddenly unsure. Had he seen bodies decomposing in the streets? Or, worse, the wild dogs that ran up to them?

But Tommy looked entirely unfazed as he continued, even if his calm appeared too orchestrated to be real. “But we survived, because I had something that I knew Queen Lucila desperately wanted. That Dream desperately wanted.” His blue irises nearly swallowed up the whites of his eyes as his voice grew louder.

Techno’s throat constricted, and he swallowed dry. _‘Something she desperately wanted.’_ “I don’t think Her Majesty wants for anything.”

“Phil knows all the gossip in Esempe,” Wilbur said. “We’ve got it in good faith that Her Majesty’s been thirsting after this place called the Nether for ages.”

His head dropped down to stare at the cracked stone brick roads. Memories he thought he’d suppressed long ago fought to be heard, creating a whirlpool of noise in his head. There was no way they knew that, or knew the implications of it — unless it was common knowledge? But surely it had been kept top secret. “How can you be sure?” Techno turned to stare accusingly at Philza. “Are you personally in touch with her or something? Pen pals with the queen?”

“Seeing as I was Her Majesty’s Merchant Affairs Representative? Pretty much.” He shrugged, and Techno tried not to physically recoil. Phil, an Esempee government official? No matter how hard he looked, he just couldn’t see it in the man’s easygoing smile and relaxed shoulders. Where was the pompous air, the leering, the burning ambition-turned-greed in his eyes? “She was constantly asking after it, which is why we have that Lanvad lead.”

And why hadn’t Techno seen him before? He’d _lived_ in the West Palace, just a floor away from the chamber where Lucila held court, for god’s sake.

“It’s not like I was being paid for my loyalty or anything, just my organization skills,” Phil said hastily, glancing at Wilbur and Tommy. “I want to take her down just as much.”

“So you’re after…what, exactly?” _Me?_ His hand drifted almost subconsciously to the hilt of his sword, and Phil’s all-seeing eyes followed. “Revenge? An army?” Surely they weren’t seeking to ally with Lanvad. Their closed-off borders ensured a rather hostile relationship with any and all foreigners.

Tommy cut in then, cheered instantly at his cue. “No,” he said, gesturing at his bag, “We’re after the Thirteen Discs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "kurokoo, did you really just call dream's kingdom 'esempe' and its language/people 'esempee'?"
> 
> i mean, i could've called it esempeen...
> 
> look, i'm sorry, okay. here's my excuse: originally, it was called chard, because dream is a (ch)ad and philza is known for h(ard)core mode, but one day i had to go to a local field to pick fruits and vegetables with my family, and that's when i learned that chard is a plant. i was fresh out of ideas in every way, and i had already mentioned l'manburg, so. forgive me.


	3. might take your diamonds, but i'll steal your heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from [wildcard (KSHMR)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ux9vr4xfWj4)

For the first time in much too long, Techno’s clothes smelled fresh.

He almost couldn’t believe that the neatly pressed, collared shirt in his hands was the same mess of ripped fabric he’d worn earlier. “How the fuck did you do this?” He turned it over in his hands and inhaled deeply. What kind of blasted fairy hole had Wilbur crawled out of to make this happen?

Wilbur grinned in a way that was meant to come off as mysterious but just seemed pleased. “Magic. Also helps that whatever that fabric is, it’s really nice. You just ruined it by being a pig.” He sounded almost protective of the shirt, like Techno had committed some mortal sin by not keeping it in pristine condition.

“He likes washing clothes and soaking them in flowers,” Tommy smirked.

“I’ll stop doing yours if you don’t shut the fuck up.” Wilbur narrowed his eyes before turning back to the slit in the public washroom. “I used snowdrops. They’re cheaper here, y’know? That’s why the smell is so weak and so…” He waved a hand. “Springy.”

“I helped pick it,” Phil offered. “I think it suits you. Also, they’re the cheapest. You’ve no idea how much most flowers cost in Mirkam.”

Tommy huffed. “And _I_ said Wilbur should’ve gone for marigolds, because they have a depressing meaning and you’re a depressing person. And they’re still a lot cheaper here.”

“Gee, thanks.” Misers. And how did Tommy know what marigolds meant? He probably hadn’t seen marigolds before in his life. (Though they did grow in Lirikam, Hypixel, and its old tributary states. Leighthine Borglin, huh?)

Tommy looked him as dead in the eyes as possible when his eyes weren’t visible. “You’re very welcome, Technoblade.”

Techno pressed the shirt closer and sniffed. It did smell springy. “…Thank you.”

“I already said you’re welcome.”

“He doesn’t mean you,” Wilbur snapped, and smacked him on the nape. “Now dress so we can get on our way.”

Techno threw it all on and stepped out quickly, hating the feeling that he was slowing them down. His head throbbed with a delayed headache, and he wished desperately for ginger tea. He’d have to take on a job soon, but around these people…

“You dress quickly,” Phil noted. “Wilbur takes hours.”

“Only because Tommy steals my fucking clothes every night.”

“It’s not ‘stealing’ if it’s communal property,” argued Tommy.

“Well, it’s not!”

“They call me the Clothes Wearer,” Techno interrupted. “Since I’m not fit to be the Clothes Bearer.”

Though Phil laughed, Wilbur gave him a strange look, but then shrugged and turned. All three of them ignored Tommy when he not-so-innocently asked what Techno did with his underclothes. (Wash them, obviously. Silk was just too difficult to do daily. He didn’t expect Tommy to know how silk worked, or how anything worked, for that matter.

No, he did. Tommy knew warfare — of that, he was certain.)

“While you were being dirty and Wilbur was being clean, Philza and I got paid,” Tommy informed him as they sidestepped crowds clamouring for a spot to bathe. Techno shuddered as he brushed past a particularly hairy woman. Was that salmon she reeked of, or the kinds of things that would make it into the stomach of one?

“Two thousand solees,” Phil murmured reverently to his left. Though the shortest of the four, he seemed to have the least amount of trouble making it through the crowd. Though taller, Tommy had the most. “Two thousand solees in one night. The queen wishes she were Philza Minecraft.”

Two thousand? He made the conversion quickly and stiffened. The pouch swinging emptily by his side seemed even lighter than usual. Maybe he should invest in studying the art of sycophancy, if only to make it into Phil’s will.

And then murder him, perhaps.

In front of him, Philza sneezed.

_Nah. Counterproductive. He’s not worth the time and effort._

He could almost hear Luna’s voice, feel her smirk brushing his ear, and grief dulled with time and exhaustion clenched in his chest.

“Not bad,” sniffed Wilbur, though Techno swore he could see the same gears turning in his head. Maybe without the murder bit, though. “Certainly more than you’ll ever make in your entire life, Tommy.”

“You forget that it’s me who’s going to get all that money in the end.”

“You think you’ll outlive him? I reckon you’ll die by twenty! Maybe by my hand!”

As they bickered, Phil gave Techno another blinding smile and yanked him behind a nearby stall, ignoring the shopowner’s incredulous look. “Look, Techno — ”

Oh, gods, he must’ve sensed it. Hurry, he could backtrack. “I didn’t mean it, I’m not really going to kill you for your money, that’s not even remotely true! It was a joke thought, I swear.”

“ _What?_ What are you saying?”

“I thought you might’ve, uh, read my mind. The cover-up is worse than the crime, you know…”

“ _You_ thought I _read your mind_? God, I thought after Wilbur and then Tommy I’d never find anyone as ridiculous as them, but obviously I was wrong.” Phil chuckled and straightened. “I was just going to give you this map.”

He stared down at the roll of paper in Phil’s hand. “You decided a covert hand-off would be the best way to give me a map? What, is it enchanted? Are the location names written in cypher?”

“No, but I thought Tommy might get jealous that he never got a map.” He clapped him on the back and began herding him out. “He sets fire to everything he touches, so Wilbur and I thought it best that he didn’t.” One day, he vowed to pry the underlying story out of their hands.

“The cover up is worse than the crime,” Techno muttered again as they rejoined Wilbur and Tommy.

“What was that, Technoblade?”

“I said we’re running out of time.”

Wilbur clapped his hands like he hadn’t just been about to throw some. “Exactly. Tommy, you’re such a time-waster. It’s an awful quality. So I propose we rig up a couple horses and get on our merry way.”

And that was how they ended up in coarse monastery robes, leading four horses out of their barn in broad daylight. Sorry, scratch that — _stealing_ four horses in broad daylight.

The clamor of Mirkam Day could not be replicated even on its sequel day, but people still flooded the streets like a living tsunami. In their midst, a caravan of wandering “holy men” leading horses through the streets did not look so out of place. The Southwest region’s third largest religion-cult A’lakart was known for its obsession with Mirkam Day, after all.

Though he had to admit that the horses were embodiments of elegance and beauty, they also had an unfortunately conspicuous brand on their necks. And, of course, anyone with basic knowledge of A’lakart knew that the use of commercialized animals was strictly forbidden. Commercialized animals, that is, such as branded horses for travel. It was said that it would be “like stomping on Tara’s thigh.” The thigh which animals were made from, apparently, though privately Techno thought that the original text might have indicated a different, specific organ located very close to the thigh, with the ability to reproduce. And which would probably hurt more to stomp on. He’d never voice the thought aloud, though; A’lakart monks were rather testy.

“I think this is illegal,” said the part of Techno’s brain not working on crackpot religious theories. Wilbur’s horse brayed in agreement.

“Not to worry.” Wilbur tugged just a bit harder at the reins in his hand, running the other soothingly through the mare’s mane. “I know a guy who knows a guy…”

“Who knows the guy who owns these stables?”

“No, who’s a lawyer.”

Techno inspected the glossy coat of his horse and concluded that they could sell their organs on the black market three times over and still be unable to pay it off. Hopefully this guy was a court lawyer; they were notoriously both corrupt and talented, which would be useful.

Still, Wilbur seemed far too uncaring about having just sent Tommy out as a distraction against four grown men. “Wilbur,” he began, mentally constructing an essay on why, while Techno certainly didn’t care whether the kid lived or died, Wilbur should.

“Yeah, yeah, I know we could’ve just paid, but where’s the fun in that?”

That hadn’t been it, but Techno reflexively glanced at Phil — surely he would say something? Preach about how stealing was one of the eight deadly sins? But the other man stayed silent and stoic as he led his horse. No wonder he had so much money. It wasn’t that he earned a lot, he just never spent any.

As he admired the extent of how stingy his new companions were, an already-familiar voice yelped, “Incoming!”, right before something tall and reedy slammed into Techno’s back.

The force of it and his surprise knocked the wind out of him, and the two toppled onto the ground. He allowed himself a second to pant before pushing up to his elbows and violently shoving Tommy off. “Are you stupid?” he hissed, tucking his hair in swiftly. What kind of monk not only wasn’t bald, but also had a head of bright pink hair? What kind of monk went through rebellious teenage phases?

“I was running for my life,” Tommy complained, oblivious as he leaned back on his heels. “Sorry for not controlling my natural momentum. That I have no control over, because it’s natural. Idiot.”

The people around them, who had been frozen like time itself had stopped, stirred and began moving again. Wilbur recovered from a facepalm so hard it looked as though he’d been slapped to go haul them up. “Tommy, that was far from your best work. Horrible, actually.”

“I agree,” Techno muttered, rubbing at his hip. Aging men of twenty-one should be treated with respect. He wasn’t young anymore, couldn’t Tommy see that?

“Well, it’s not going to get any better.” He mounted Techno’s horse, not even hesitating when he saw the sword strapped on that clearly did not belong to him. “See, I kind of failed.”

“You kind of _what_?”

Tommy waved to them and slapped the horse, miraculously managing not to get bucked off. “Giddyup!” The crowd parted with shrieks and screams as he barrelled through, knocking babies out of their mother’s arms and the dead out of their coffins.

“He just stole your sword!” Phil yelled incredulously, while sitting atop his stolen horse. Techno couldn’t help but feel there was a smidgen too much pride about it in his voice.

A street away, two men rounded the corner and turned to the source of all the fuss. They narrowed in on the branded horses, the pink-haired man impersonating a monk, and the way people detoured away in a wide circle. “You three with the horses! Stop right there!”

Techno groaned and flipped his hood up, snatching what should have been Tommy’s horse’s reins from Phil’s slack grip. He mounted smoothly and tugged Wilbur to his horse by his (lavender-scented) shirt. “If you don’t escape, you won’t be able to kill Tommy for this,” he urged, then hightailed it the hell out of there. And if he knocked people _into_ coffins instead of out, well, that was just another day in the life.

Anything not to get arrested again.

~~~

“It’s just a sword,” Tommy pouted, swaying gently on his horse.

More like his baby, his firstborn, the sword Roland had handed him when he turned thirteen. Techno completely ignored him and cradled it to his chest. “And you’re just a kid. If you keep talking, I might run you through with it.”

“I wouldn’t stop him, either,” muttered Wilbur.

“Very real threat. I’d think on that, Tommy,” Phil said. He, too, was apparently irked at having to flee at breakneck speed. Pissing off all three of your companions got you ganged up on. Who knew?

Tommy sulked in the corner, properly put in his place for running off and leaving them to be chased out of the city. Techno sighed and sheathed the sword again. He was much too young to keep getting exiled out of the biggest cities in the Western Quarter. Any more, and he’d have to head south to genuinely become an A’lakartan. Now that would truly be tragic. They were an anti-violence religion, which was about the same as telling him to just stop breathing.

Besides, there was no way in hell Techno wasn’t going to follow these guys, now that he knew what lay in their possession.

Perhaps they really were formidable enough to challenge Esempe, though it was nearly impossible to tell with the way Wilbur had tried (and almost succeeded) in twisting Tommy’s ears clean off earlier. Philza hadn’t even been in L’manburg at the time, he thought, mapping it out mentally. So how was this tired and resigned, albeit comforting, ex-Esempee lapdog the most competent among them?

As they rode their stolen horses across the bumpy desert that occupied a small swath of land west of Mirkam, Techno had all too much time to wonder which disc Tommy had. And, for that matter, how the hell _these_ guys had gotten ahold of them. A bard who somehow wound up as president, an Esempee administrator who got fired for no discernible reason (according to him) and…

“I’m kind of surprised you’re tagging along,” Tommy called from his steed, though his words came out garbled. The horse fought and tried to buck him off, which happened when you startled it so badly it covered half the city grounds in fifteen minutes.

“What?”

“I said, I’m kind of surprised you’re tagging along! What, Technoblade, are you deaf?” He pressed his right foot too firmly into the horse’s side to guide it closer, and Techno winced with it. “Why would you care about the discs? You’re not the kind who would go around in search of some greater purpose or whatever. And you don’t seem like a music guy.”

“He hums a lot, though,” Wilbur said.

Techno glanced at him. “What? No, I don’t.”

“You don’t?” He looked up, brows knitting. “But then why…sometimes you…”

“So you’re delusional. Nice going, Wilbur, the dementia must be getting to you. Now, Technoblade?”

He grimaced. “Better you than Her Majesty, right? You guys already have, uh, at least one, so I figure you have the best shot at challenging her.”

“We don’t stand a chance,” Wilbur said before Tommy could suggest they declare war at the slightest bit of encouragement. He chewed on the end of his pen, unafraid of dropping and trampling it underneath his mare. His movements flowed so fluently with his horse’s that even Techno, for all his childhood equestrian training, had to be impressed. Perhaps he really did possess the elegance of a ruler.

Phil nodded. “We just need to keep at least the discs away from her is all, not fight her entire kingdom.”

So they had more than one, huh? Techno racked his brain. Out of the thirteen discs, his family had only possessed ten. The three others were scattered to the winds, in preparation of the attack that inevitably would and had come. Those discs were supposed to be hidden by riddles to muddle the clearest of minds! Was he supposed to believe that these guys were sages of shining virtue, the best and brightest the world had to offer?

He listened to Tommy’s jabbering, Wilbur threatening to clobber whoever was responsible for that ‘annoying drone,’ and Phil wiping his nose. If so, the world must be an awfully dark place.

No, it couldn’t be. Either they didn’t have the discs, or the discs and whatever guarded them had gone insane, like magnetised compasses.

His heels had started digging in aggressively into the horse’s flank, though he didn’t notice until the horse bolted with him barely hanging on. “Fuck! I mean, woah!” He yanked on the reins before sliding off and landing with a thump. Thankfully, his dignity seemed to be the only injury not listed as ‘slight’ in his mental tally. At times like these, he really wished he still had Brick.

“You okay?” Phil called after he'd stopped laughing.

“I’m never okay.” Real nice guy, that.

“Well, you’re going to be if this works.” Wilbur trotted up next to him, accidentally kicking dust into his face. He coughed and sputtered before staring up with watery, resentful eyes. “Heh, you look so funny right now. But anyway! Right up ahead, that’s the border of Lanvad. Oh-so-glorious Lanvad, the Emos.”

“I don’t think you should say that,” Phil called, his voice tinged with amusement. Lanvad’s closed-off state led to their nickname ‘the Emos,’ also a jibe at their worship of emus. Phil gave a tiny snicker. “They might shoot us if they hear. You know how they feel about those precious emus.” For two haphazard revolutionaries and an exiled Esempee official, Techno thought his companions made fun of other countries way too much. Perhaps they needed a mirror more than he did.

He soon forgot about them, however, when he caught sight of the outline in the distance. The desert ended abruptly with the formation of a towering mountain, cutting jaggedly into the skyline. Its craggy peaks and thick sheets of snow screamed avalanche, and with Tommy and his lack of volume control tagging along, that might just turn literal. Good thing he had studied up on avalanches last year.

“Do these people not have any trade?” Wilbur was muttering angrily, facepalming the map in disgust. “What the fuck is that? There’s no way it’s natural — just look at that snow right next to this blasted desert — so they must have conducted it with magic. These people are the definition of antisocial.”

“Your face is the definition of antisocial.”

“Oh haha, Tommy. That’s so helpful. You suck.”

Phil said nothing, so Techno got up and dusted off his pants, wistfully thinking back to when they were clean. To be fair, Wilbur had been the one to wash them. “You’re right,” he said, stretching. Damn that horse, and then the other horse for kicking so much dust onto him. “About the man-made mountain,” he clarified, “Though Tommy does suck. And it would’ve been thousands of years ago, since magic’s mostly gone.”

“Not the magic of friendship,” Wilbur singsonged. He suddenly missed the Wilbur frustrated into silence of fifteen seconds ago.

“Mostly they only let in members of the International Merchant Guild or foreign dignitaries." He eyed Wilbur. "Considering you, you don’t count.”

Wilbur shrugged. “I won’t deny it.”

Three sets of eyes slid to Phil. “Hey, don’t look at me.” He held his hands up. “I lost Guild membership when Her Majesty kicked me out.” Techno made a mental note to ask why later. Maybe when Phil was mortally wounded. He found people were much more inclined to spill out their secrets when bleeding out with him leaning over them.

“Well,” Tommy said, just to break the silence, “We could scale the thing. And I was good at rock climbing in gym class, so I’d win, too.”

“Yeah, good in year six.”

“You’re just mad that you only got halfway up. I still remember that story. It must have been so satisfying for your classmates. I wish I’d been there.”

Wilbur chuckled scornfully. “Yeah, do you? When I was in year six you weren’t even an idea.”

“It’s alright,” Techno interrupted. He could smell a brawl coming the way sharks smell blood. “I, uh, I can get us in.”

Phil swiveled to take a closer look at him. “You can? You sure you aren’t with the mafia?” He dismounted, too graceful to tumble off. Lucky bastard. His hip throbbed with jealousy. “I wouldn’t be displeased if you were, you know. You can say anything.” Techno stared at him at that, trying to scrutinize the hint in his voice, but Phil’s ocean-blue eyes were wide with innocence.

“Yeah, who are you?” demanded Tommy, much more brusquely. He rather preferred that.

“Your mom.”

“ _Wilbur_ — ”

He ignored them with a long-suffering sigh that was only a day old. “Look, there’s a certain person…you know, actually, it’s who I’m looking for, so this all hinges on whether or not he’s there.”

Wilbur looked up, ignoring how Tommy’s hands were slowly yanking him bald. “So you’re saying you can get us there, but only if you end up finding someone you haven’t been able to find for seven years?”

That did sound bad, he had to admit. “I have better odds now than I had for those seven years?” he tried.

“Which are?” prompted Phil.

“...Around thirteen to two.”

“For or against?”

He coughed. Damn that man for asking. “Against.”

Phil shook his head, gazing forlornly at Wilbur. “If only you’d cut your hair when we set off like I told you to. Maybe then you’d look less like a starving artist and more like a president, and we wouldn’t have to go through this trouble.” He met Techno’s eyes and nodded. They were on the exact same wavelength on that artist bit.

“But I like my hair.” Wilbur cleared his throat at their simultaneous frowns. “So, er, thirteen to two, huh?”

“What does that mean?”

“This is why you should’ve stayed in school,” Wilbur smirked. Tommy replied with a vicious yank that nearly took his scalp off, and then they were going at it again like mud wrestlers. And not particularly good mud wrestlers, either. What an exhausting pair. Throughout his travels in the West Quarter, he’d picked up local dialects that sounded like grunting pigs, people who chewed up words before spitting them out, and Renche, which didn’t have a widespread national language at all. And despite all of that, he’d never heard anyone as irritating as them.

He turned back to Phil, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I’ll have to take this really small and obscure passageway to get in and meet him…though I’m sure he won’t mind. Passageways are meant to be taken.”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “You can’t just take all four of us through this passageway?”

“It’s a difficult path. And I’m not going to find the guy and take off,” he protested, though he’d definitely been considering it. Not much, but he had been. He shelved the thought and took on his most persuasive tone. “I mean, you guys are like my travelling laundromat. Why would I even think of leaving you behind?”

“Because we’re more of a travelling circus than anything.” At least someone in the party was self-aware, he thought, even if it was actively being used against him. He just couldn’t win. “And because you’ve been fine without a travelling laundromat for seven years. I want insurance, Technoblade. Your obvious interest in the discs isn’t enough.”

Of course Phil didn’t trust him, and that made sense, and he hated that it made sense. “What do you want from me, then? I already promised. I mean, I’m going to promise, if you want me to.”

Phil smiled. “You know as well as I do how worthless that would be.” He turned to Wilbur and Tommy and shouted, “Hey, start setting up camp, please. We’re probably going to be staying overnight. Over many nights.”

Behind him, he heard Wilbur yell, “Yes, Cap’n!”, followed by a thump. Whether it was a body or a heavy bag, Techno couldn’t tell. No, wait, he could. Definitely a body.

Phil’s horse was already lying down, sensing rest and glad to take it. He zeroed in on it and watched its legs flex. He’d never felt so annoyed and yet so attuned to the sun beating down on their group. “I don’t know how long it’ll take to get myself in, let alone all of you. It might be three days or weeks.” He met Phil’s gaze. “Maybe they’ll detain me, and I won’t be able to come back.”

“I have faith in you,” he said brightly, not missing a beat. Faith in this regard but not the other, how unfortunate. “You won’t be caught until you have permission. And you can send someone when you’re done; you know where we are. Or come get us yourself. We’ll be fine.” His voice dropped along with his tone, and the words barely reached Techno’s ears. “Now listen to me, Techno. I want your earring.”

“What?” he said dumbly. “It’s not free. Or for sale.”

“Techno — ” He sighed and laughed, the kind that sounded like he was squeezing exasperation out in auditory form. “I want to have it while you’re in Lanvad.”

There was no way he knew.

“You can’t,” he said slowly.

“Why not?”

“Because — because it’s valuable,” he said without thinking, and immediately regretted it. Shit, fuck. Why didn’t he just climb on his horse and yell, ‘Hey, this thing has a lot of personal meaning’ to the whole desert? It would’ve been less conspicuous than this, coming from someone who so obviously didn’t care a whit for material possessions. No, wait. He could save this. “I mean, what’s stopping _you_ from running off with it?”

“I know I don’t have a great track record,” he acquiesced, gesturing to the horses, “but you also know I don’t need it for whatever monetary value it has. And neither do you.” Techno winced. He prided himself on lying, what was this guy doing, taking such swings at his pride? “I’ll just keep it until you get back, to make sure you aren’t cheating us.” The knowing gleam returned to his eyes. “You do that a lot, don’t you? I apologize for this whole affair, but at the same time, I’m sure you understand.”

Okay, maybe. But about the accusation of cheating, that was survival, wasn’t it? Now wasn’t this the Esempee official energy he’d been looking for earlier? The second Phil’s self-restraint loosened, his determination mutated into hunger. He pursed his lips. “…Fine.” His eyes tracked the earring, however, the entire time it took for him to take it off and drop it into Phil's hand. He watched Phil's fingers curl over it and deposit it carefully into his coat pocket, and cursed himself for allowing it to happen, while not making a single movement to stop it.

Now that he knew that Tommy had the discs, he couldn’t leave, but Phil had no way of knowing that. And besides, Phil was trustworthy, though getting less so by the second. He had no idea why Phil wanted into Lanvad so badly. Techno, so far, had provided nothing of value, so surely he had some pressing business in Lanvad, though he really had no idea how they planned to get in earlier had they not run into him.

 _Maybe because they know about you,_ the small suspicious voice lurking in his head suggested.

He dismissed the thought. Ridiculous. No one knew about him except himself, and sometimes he thought even that wasn’t true.

Phil clapped his hands, offering no clue to the answer. “Excellent.” He turned and called to Wilbur and Tommy, who were standing in front of the two small tents they’d erected. “Woah, Tommy, that almost looks good enough to sleep in! It’s just that the poles have to actually go into the flaps. Otherwise — ” A loud crash sounded, followed by a shout of surprise and then hysterical laughter. “Tommy! Are you okay?”

“’m fine,” a muffled voice called back.

“So what happened in your little confidential club meeting?” Wilbur asked as he rejoined the circle. Phil deftly struck a match and lit a fire in the tinder pile Wilbur had constructed earlier. “Disclosed any undesirable side jobs?”

“Yeah,” he said glumly.

Tommy raised an eyebrow, having clawed his way out of the fallen tent. “How many people have you killed?”

“Yes.”

Far from afraid, he just laughed. That was not the reaction he’d been looking for, but then again, none of these people had the right reactions to anything. Phil spoke up then, merry as always. “Since Techno has a slight chance of being able to find this person and get us in, we’re going to wait for him here.”

He exchanged a glance with Wilbur, who seemed to understand everything Techno didn’t in those two seconds. “We’re in a desert. What about water?”

“We’re a day away from Mirkam,” he said breezily. “And we have so much in reserve. It’ll be fine. It’ll be like that first journey to the Badlands! Remember that? And we’ll be able to see the stars. As long as we don’t draw attention from those looking for us and end up seeing prison bars instead.”

“The Badlands sucked ass,” mumbled Tommy, but he and Wilbur seemed reasonably satisfied with the answer.

Techno sucked in a breath and sighed. There was no backing out of this. “Right, then I’ll leave tonight. Now.”

Wilbur stopped him. “Is it legal, what you plan to do?”

“…Yeah.” The reply came a beat too slow. That happened when you stopped taking music class seven years ago. “And since when did _you_ care about legality?”

“Good enough, then, because you’re right. I don’t.” Wilbur leaned in. “We’re running from the law, after all.”

He scoffed. “We wouldn’t be if you’d just paid for the horses. Didn’t Phil _just_ say he had two thousand solees? Probably more, actually.” His fingers itched for the horse’s reins.

Wilbur smiled at him, and for a second he truly looked like Philza’s son. “Oh, I’m not talking about the horses.”

Wilbur’s eyes flickered down to his chest. Could he hear Techno’s heart accelerate? He swallowed, and perhaps Wilbur heard that as well. “There’s no law that can find me.” (Yet. His heart was a clock that ticked with every beat, and one day it would reach zero.)

“We’ll see.” Wilbur dismounted, sat cross-legged in the sand, and pulled the guitar case down from his horse. Shadows danced across his face, sending malevolence and benevolence alternatively on his features with each flicker of the fire. “Now do whatever it is you need to do. And will someone stop that stupid humming?”

“I really think you have auditory hallucinations.” 

“And _I_ think it really gets a lot quieter whenever you’re not near me, so go away.”

Tommy scowled but sat next to Phil, across from Wilbur, and Techno awkwardly turned and mounted, checking his supplies. They’d been replenished, presumably by Tommy, who was waving enthusiastically and wagging his eyebrows at the pack in his hands. Good enough.

He mounted, twisting back to face them. The three waved back dutifully, but his eyes zeroed in on the small flash of azure between Phil’s fingers.

Without another glance or goodbye, he leaned forward and squeezed. “Giddyup!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right brain: you're trying to write found family here, why are you doing this whole suspicion thing?  
> left brain: they have known each other for a day, you _have_ to do the whole suspicion thing  
> me, desperate for any writing at all: fuck it, this'll give me a higher word count
> 
> on the subject of higher word counts, these past chapters have all been spaced two weeks apart, but as a very slow writer that probably won't be the case from here on out. thanks for the support :)


	4. the blood moon is on the rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from [on my way (alan walker, sabrina carpenter and farruko)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dhYOPzcsbGM)
> 
> also, there is [fanart](https://gabrieldrawsstuff.tumblr.com/post/639867078092996608/bring-out-all-the-ghosts-to-light-by-kurokoo-on) for this fic now! which i never thought would happen in a million years, but hey. it's drawn really well so thank you very much :)
> 
> this is also my first beta'd chapter. thank you to [FrogsAndFandoms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrogsAndFandoms/pseuds/FrogsAndFandoms) for that
> 
> also i was already like 16k words into this when i realized that even if i had intended to put dream in here somewhere, that won't be for a while, hence the tag change

Being chased out of the city hadn’t given him much room for thought, but now that Techno had been riding alone for days, he was certain Rocket had been a prize horse. He was disciplined, proud and, best of all, fast as fuck. (Much like himself, he thought, insisting he wasn’t mentally preening.) Rocket carried him through the scorching desert without doing things like leaving him in the dust or laughing at him. Besides that one time.

He shuddered to think of how much the horse must be worth. Getting into the city next Mirkam Day undetected would be harder than breaking into the Esempe National Treasury. (Experience said so.) Murder, blackmail, national theft — he had his trades. Other people had shoemaking. So he really wasn’t much unlike your average citizen.

Besides that, he really didn’t enjoy the way his ear felt too light and sensitive without the familiar weight bearing down on it, so he instead focused on the Plan. It required a lot of mental sandpaper to smooth down the edges, not to mention it was rougher than a laundry maid’s hand, but he was working on it, alright?

Within two days of ceaseless riding and water rationing, he’d come up with this brilliant scheme:

  1. Enter LANVAD
  2. Find BPM L-BRANCH HEADQUARTERS
  3. Find job
  4. Complete job, acquiring so much money TOMMY begins to plan my tragic death in an unfortunate accident. or was it an unfortunate death in a tragic accident?
  5. Find SKEPPY how? no clue  
?????  
no, not to worry  
yes so much worry oh my god  
no, no. go like so:
  6. TECHNOBLADE

please give me the disc you might but might not have depending on the circumstances

SKEPPY

what disc

TECHNOBLADE

the disc that you definitely have

SKEPPY

okay

  7. Everything works out fine
  8. Get my motherfucking earring back from that motherfucker PHILZA stupid obstinate fucking motherfucker



(7) had been mentally crossed out and rewritten multiple times, and at this point he was at least ten minutes away from the next cross-out. He hadn’t used such foul language, and certainly not as strong, since the edgiest of his edgy teenage years. He justified it with the hollow feeling scraping in his chest, driving him mad without the measured reassurance at his left ear.

That had been his _hope_ , goddamnit!

Rocket neighed at the erratic signals he sent with the pressure in his legs, and he half-heartedly combed the horse’s mane in apology. But really, who did Philza think he was? Waltzing into Techno’s life with his stupid discs and stupider sons, lighting hope in his heart only to douse it the next day — he never got played like this.

Huffing, he consulted the map again. In front of him the mountain stood, imposing and impossible to conquer. In his mind Techno thought he’d never met something he hadn’t been able to conquer.

Seconds later, Wilbur’s voice echoing _what about your mom_ rang through his head.

He resisted the urge to bang his head on a nearby rock and instead focused on (1). Though Lanvad was notorious for its overkill border security, Techno was fairly confident he could get in undetected.

He pulled a compass from his bag, checking that they were headed due north and hugging the mountain range the entire time. He kept an eye trained on the bare cliffs capped with snow that extended high above. If he remembered correctly, and he almost always did, he’d arrive where he needed to in approximately ten ostrich paces. (They were easier to calculate once you’ve travelled with the nomads around Lanvad.)

Ten ostrich paces later, he clambered off the horse as ungracefully as always (cue the family writhing in graves, this time over his wasted education) and pulled his sack off as well, slinging it over his shoulder. “Thanks,” he said fondly to Rocket. “You need to stay here until I get back, alright? And try not to die, that would be helpful too.”

Rocket snorted and Techno took it as _Of course, my good friend Technoblade_ instead of _Fuck you_ , which it had an equal possibility of being. He patted Rocket’s rump and headed off into the thicket.

He whistled softly as he went, brushing past brambles and thorns without a care. They snagged at his skin but couldn’t seem to break it, and he smirked until one smacked him in the lip and drew blood. Son of a birch.

His entire body was sore and throbbing from the travel on horseback, especially the part that had been attached to the saddle for hours. He thought of the other three cozying it up in their little tents and scowled, vowing to kick their asses later. Just because it was fair, and Techno was nothing if not the upholder of justice.

With that thought in mind, he kept pushing through until he was faced with a bare stretch of land at the mountain’s base. The small ring of dying grass against the mountain was surrounded by tightly packed foliage that ensured no horses would ever make it through. Techno thought of the odds Rocket would just ditch him and leave him stranded, and slumped a bit lower. Life wasn’t quite what he thought it’d be when he was a kid growing up in Mobain.

The mountain in front of him was covered in dark, wiry ivy that clung like a densely woven mat, and he tried to push it aside. The ivy stubbornly resisted like a sixteen-year-old waitress being hit on by a business tycoon in his fifties. He yanked at it petulantly. Deciding he didn’t have time for magic mountain ivy bullshit, he unsheathed his sword and began slicing his way in. _I’m sullying Roland’s name even after death,_ he thought in despair. Roland had taken great pains to recount every bit of the sword’s history to his (nine parts bored, one part interested) thirteen-year-old self. He continued on grimly until he had forced his way into a dark tunnel.

Thank god it was still here, even after all these years.

The ivy had its claws still dug into the walls, but it began to fade away as he went deeper. Brown moss occasionally took its place, and his steps came quicker and quicker as though each wanted to outrun the last. Soon he was jogging through, trying futilely to be as silent as possible.

After at least half an hour spent in darkness with only the echoes of his own steps to keep him company, a sliver of light shone up ahead. Techno sighed in relief and slowed to catch his breath. Nothing had changed with those stupid lords of Lanvad. So impractical. He bet none of them ever bothered to go through their own smuggling tunnels. They’d never stand for the state of this one if they had to go through it themselves, but they had never been very interested in leaving the Inner City.

He brushed himself down, scowling at the sweat, and started forward again.

Two guards were stationed at the exit, standing at attention. Their eyes latched onto him when he came within range, and the taller one’s eyes narrowed as he took him in. “There is no shipment today.” No shit. “Who are you?”

He plastered on as bland and placating an expression as he could and spread his hands, voice light with civility. “Didn’t you hear from Lord Davin? I’m just here for delivery of Lady Davin’s goods.” He gestured to his bag.

The taller one looked at him, looked at the scruffy pack, and looked at him again. “Sound the alarm.”

Drat.

The next second, a fist caught him squarely in the jaw.

 _Well, you could’ve just said so,_ he thought, recovering with inhuman speed to send one spiralling right back with a satisfying crack. The force of it sent the guard stumbling into the wall, where he dropped like a sack.

Techno rolled his shoulder back in annoyance. The other guard, probably wishing he’d been stationed elsewhere, had snatched a torch off the wall and was bolting towards the large stone bowl. That wouldn’t do. Techno rocketed after him, tackling him to the ground and extinguishing the torch in his fist.

“What the fuck,” gasped the guard underneath him. “You’re a djinn!”

“You flatter me, but no. Just very talented.” The man fruitlessly stretched his hand out towards the bowl. “That was just one percent of my power,” Techno informed him jovially, just seconds before he sent him careening into unconsciousness. Or brain damage. Probably both.

He got off and tied the two with rope Tommy had put in his bag (for a very different purpose, but hey, Techno was resourceful like that). He surveyed the area, a bit put off by the lax security. Were those lords getting lazy, sitting on their plush thrones?

His thoughts were interrupted by a faint rumbling in the distance. Intrigued, Techno started and leapt down the path. A short ways later, he found the path winding left, probably towards some place sequestered away but for the select few noblemen who had commissioned the tunnels. No doubt it would be full of traps. He snorted and continued.

A faint memory prickled at the edges of his mind, of running down a forest with just this selection of trees. How could he forget them? Running wasn’t exactly the optimal time to take stock of the environment, since every turn offered a different way to trip, but he allowed himself parting glances. There they were. The trees were dark, bent over like old men, uneven and bumpy with thick vertical strips.

He stumbled over a root on the last step and cursed colorfully as he slammed into the ground. Oh, so he could run down a mountain pathless with the agility of a city thief, but couldn’t make a smooth landing at the end of it? He got up, feeling properly ashamed of himself, and rubbed his skin until it turned pink with chafing. Hey, it matched the hair.

Ahead was the Inner City, an imposing and high-tech place surrounded by walls thicker than its lords’ asscheeks. Which was saying a lot. That tunnel he’d come from earlier transported more quality foodstuffs than regular citizens would ever see in their lives.

Above the trees rose dignified stone walls packed with mortar, reaching for the sky like they deserved to be supernatural. Techno had forgotten he’d always loved just how impenetrable it looked. It made it all the more satisfying to breach.

Although it carried a regal aura, with looming battle towers set a regular distance apart and swarming with guards at all hours, now it only seemed chaotic. A cacophony of screaming and hoarse yelling sounded from the front of the gates, and Techno grinned. Oh, of course, the raids. He should have known.

Luckily, this meant it would be easier to get in. The forest thinned until he was standing in a small, well-kept grove. This part of the mountain pressed up against the wall, and he walked over and gave a single knock on the dark grey door. The material blended well with the wall it was carved into. He nodded approvingly at the design before promptly beginning to pretend-hyperventilate, as you do.

The door opened. “Who are you?” asked the bewildered servant. Techno gave him a once-over and deemed him unimportant, then went back to wheezing. “A-are you okay?”

“I’m a…messenger from…Lirikam.” He waved his hand. “Master Roen is concerned. He wants to check in.” He drew his sword and presented it as evidence, and the boy’s eyes widened at the sight of it. He almost smirked. The blade, harmless to him and lethal to everyone else, was so sharp it looked like it could cut someone just by looking at it. It was well balanced, not to mention solid and flexible enough to withstand abuse, as expected from a country renowned for its battle strength. Who had ultimately lost in battle, but no one said they were excellent economists who could expand their territory uncannily quickly like Esempe.

The boy looked up. The room he was in seemed to be empty, and Techno let himself straighten up a bit. “This is probably a good time,” the boy finally said, dropping his guard. Techno squinted at him. If this guy had worked at the Mobain Palace, he’d have dropkicked him into unemployment for being this negligent with security. “Which lord is Master Roen looking for?”

“Skeppy. I mean, Lord Skeppy.”

“ _Lord Skeppy?_ ” The boy stared at him incredulously. “Master Roen has enough sense not to send after _him,_ doesn’t he?”

“It would do you no good to speak ill of either of them,” he said harshly. The boy cowered and he mentally chastised himself. Right now he was another young man being used and abused by an oppressive caste, not a royalist. He totally preached democracy and all those funny new ideas they had in the South Quarter. “I mean, what if someone hears?”

“…Yeah, you’re right.” He turned and heaved a sigh. Techno slipped in through the door, and the boy bolted it shut behind him. They stood in the kitchens, now empty of servants or cooks besides them. “Lucky Lord Skeppy is actually home for once.”

Techno jerked his head up. “He is? Where? When?”

“I don’t know if you knew, but Lord Skeppy is kind of notorious for disappearing all the time.” Techno resisted the urge to nod vigorously and just stayed silent, letting the boy chatter. “While his father was still alive, you have no idea how much time he spent trying to track him down. He got more desperate the more time passed. It was like Lord Skeppy was a serial killer or something.”

“Why’s he here now?”

The pageboy sobered up. “They tell us not to say, but since you’re here, you probably already know.”

He focused on the clamor outside and took a gamble. “The number of raids have been increasing?”

The boy sighed, resigned. “What can they do, you know? Everyone’s upset, because…” he lowered his voice. “The drought’s been getting worse. I’m lucky to have landed a job here recently. You must see it, right?”

“I have myopia.”

“What are you talking about? We all know what it’s like for you people in Lirikam. It’s so far from perfect, we laugh about you over tea!”

Techno sighed. This was a prime example of what cutting education funds did to the masses. At least this guy, being new, had bought his lie. No foreign messenger would know about the secret cave in the woods.

He looked unimpressed as he led them on. “The people rioting are really so stupid. What do you think wasting all that energy is going to do, huh? Will screaming quench their thirst?” His tone turned superior, and Techno winced at how familiar it all sounded. It was easy to say these things when desperation didn’t bleed with your wounds.

The boy seemed to pick up on his judgement and fell silent. They reached the end of a flight of stairs and he ceremoniously opened the door.

“Everyone’s probably inside for the raids,” he said. “I have to get back and report that no one’s missing. So good luck, I guess.” He peeked from behind the door. “Lord Skeppy lives at the center, near the forum. I think it’s right outside the cloth sector. Which is weird, since his family doesn’t even make cloth, but I think it’s because — well, yeah, anyway. Good luck.”

“Thank you ever so much for helping me,” he said, trying his hardest to sound like the picture of sincerity. Apparently he didn’t succeed, as the door slammed shut the second he crossed the threshold. Maybe he could sneak into an acting workshop later, just to really perfect the art of lying.

The streets were empty and deserted, so he couldn’t ask anyone for help, but that didn’t bother him. With the entire city laid out in a grid pattern, it was pretty easy to find the center. From there he moved from memory alone. Though the Inner City had certainly changed from the last time he’d seen it, the forum reliably hadn’t. He admired the jewelry and fine arts section, running his hands over abandoned wares of chiselled jade and exquisitely cut diamonds. He may have also pocketed a few things left out. In a citywide lockdown, people were careless with packing things properly because there would be no one left to rob them. All he had to say about that was that he was glad parts (3) and (4) of his plan were now unnecessary.

Techno crossed directly in front of a manor house with large windows set too high to see through. He knocked politely on the front and waited. When no one came, he knocked harder, yelling, “Skeppy, are you in there? Let me in already.”

The door inched open, ready to shut at any time. “How dare you? The city is in lockdown! Run off, now!”

He caught the edge of the door just before it could shut, prying it open until he was face to face with the majordomo. “I must see him. It’s urgent. His Grace Roen of Lirikam requests an audience.”

The man studied his face closely and went pale.

Techno smirked and waved. “Hey.”

He shook his head and said nothing, but opened the door fully to let him in. Techno followed him as they walked down the long hallway, too uncomfortable to bother making conversation. He was certain the man recognized him, but both were too hyperaware of the implications to acknowledge it. Instead he let himself be led deeper, passing bolted doors and elaborate wall sconces set equidistant from each other.

“Skeppy,” the majordomo called when they had reached a large wooden door. He had long since developed an unorthodox relationship with his unorthodox lord, and it showed. Techno peeked over his shoulder and concluded from the gold-encrusted sigil on the door that this was Skeppy’s bedroom. _He must employ some really strong guys if they’re all able to open this door for him,_ he mused. _It looks like it must weigh six tons._ “Someone needs to see you.”

“Don’t let him in,” a voice hissed from behind it. “I swear on Dad’s ugly grave I’d rather let TapL die than touch this room — ”

“Skeppy, it isn’t him.”

“Well, okay, thank god.”

“It’s worse.”

“Are you serious? There’s no such thing!”

He twisted to give Techno an unpleasant look before turning back to the door. “Trust me on this, Skeppy.”

Techno frowned, feeling a bit put off by this. Certainly he wasn’t _pleasant_ to be around, as anyone incapable of white lies had told him in the past, but he wasn’t a rampaging monster who fed on the blood of the innocent or anything wild like that.

He thought back to last week and winced. Well, at least he didn’t _feed_ on the blood of the innocent.

A long groan was dragged out from the other side of the door. “Fine, let so-and-so in. Who is it? Could they hear me this whole time?”

The majordomo massaged the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Skeppy. And it’s best for you to see for yourself.”

“Well, isn’t that cryptic. Let them in.”

The door was shoved open with difficulty, and Techno began to understand why the guy had opened the door when Techno had showed up. He would probably be able to beat anyone in the city in a test of strength.

Techno stepped in, waiting for the door to shut again before he spoke. Skeppy sat on his bed, cross legged and looking like someone who had given up on meditation before it had begun. He looked up in annoyance, but his eyes widened almost comically when he saw Techno.

They stood in silence until Skeppy rubbed his eyes and huffed out a laugh. “There’s no way.”

He shrugged and grinned. “Hey, Skeppy. Long time no see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case it was hard to understand (it probably was), the pageboy mishears "myopia" as "utopia." he's not really educated.
> 
> to be honest, i'm kind of unhappy with this chapter, and i'm not sure if i should have included more plot. but it's already 3300 words and i don't know how to change it, so i'm just posting it and hoping you enjoy anyway.


End file.
